


October 31, 1981

by 2pencilfan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-10-01 17:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 16,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2pencilfan/pseuds/2pencilfan
Summary: On October 31, 1981, at 8:37 pm, James and Lily Potter died and the Wizarding World changed forever. Now wizards have to figure out what comes next. This follows various wizards over the course of the next twenty four hours, until November 1, 1981, at 8:37 pm.





	1. 8:37 pm Godric's Hollow

October 31, 1981

8:37 pm

Godric’s Hollow

James Potter slowly lowered himself into the comfortable chair by the window. He flicked his wand rapidly and smoke came flying out. Harry danced around the living room, his chubby little legs going up and down very fast. The little mop of hair on his head already resembled his father’s, although his father’s was much thicker and much longer. 

As the sparks began to fade, James flicked his wand again and more smoke came out, bright pink this time. Harry cackled and began to move faster, dancing around the coffee table. As he reached up to grab the new puff of smoke, he slipped on the rug and fell on his face. 

Immediately, James stood up and, almost simultaneously, Harry started crying. James dropped his wand on the couch and scooped Harry up, holding him against his chest. He lifted Harry’s shirt and started blowing raspberries against his stomach until Harry started laughing again. 

Lily came in, summoned by Harry’s cries. She had a mug of tea in her hand. “Is he okay?” She asked James. 

“Yup.” James said, lowering Harry’s shirt. “He just took a nosedive.” 

Lily smiled. She set her mug down on the table, next to his wand, then frowned. “James, you can’t keep putting your wand on the couch.” She said. “One day Harry’s going to pick it up.” 

“He can’t do anything with it yet.” James said. 

“Even still.” Lily told him, and she picked up the wand and handed it back to him. He put it into his back pocket. 

“Better?” He asked. 

She stepped forward and gave him a peck on the lips. “I’m sorry.” She told him. “I know you’re going crazy cooped up in here.” 

He frowned. “You are too.” 

“We have to get out at some point.” She told him. “Maybe tomorrow we can take Harry to the park.” 

“Fresh air, blue skies.” He smiled at her, a mischievous smile that reminded her of the warm days at Hogwarts. 

“We can’t.” 

“You’re right.” He admitted glumly. “Where would I be without you?” 

“Probably at the park.” She told him laughingly. Harry, still curled against James’ stomach, rubbed his eyes with a tiny fist. 

Lily knelt down a little bit. “Aww.” She cooed. “It’s almost your bedtime, isn’t it, little man?” 

“Are you going to put him down tonight?” James asked. 

“Yeah, sure, I can do it.” She told him, tossing part of her hair over her shoulder and reaching out for the baby. James handed him to her and gave her another peck on the lips. Lily gave him a small smile and turned back to go upstairs. James tossed his wand back on the couch and stretched, his arms reaching up to the ceiling. 

The front door sprung open with a loud bang. James immediately turned towards it. He knew what it was, and his adrenaline shot up. His heart started pounding. 

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" James yelled. He ran into the hallway, his shoulders square. He was ready to fight, even if the fight would only last a second. 

The hooded figure standing in the doorway chuckled, a high, piercing, humorless chuckle before waving his wand. “Avada Kedavra!” It screamed gleefully. 

James Potter dropped to the floor immediately, now completely lifeless. The hooded figure, the ghost of a chuckle still on his face, stepped over James’ body and to the staircase. 

Lily Potter screamed as she heard the curse. Her heart was pounding. She had heard the curse before. She knew who was coming. She knew that James was dead. The only thing that kept her from crying was Harry. She had to protect Harry. She put him down in his crib and looked around the room to find something to help. Her wand was still in the bedroom. She couldn’t go to get it, because she didn’t have enough time to get it and come back before he came in the room. She had to keep Voldemort out of the room. 

Her gaze fell on the rocking chair, and she pushed it forward, across the door, close enough so that he couldn’t open it. She also pushed forward some boxes with her feet. That would buy some time. She scooped Harry up, looking to the window. They might be able to jump out the window. Maybe they could go to Bathilda’s house. She took one step to the window before the door exploded. 

He stood there in the hallway, still holding his wand and still smiling. The only thing on her mind was to protect Harry, so she dropped him in the crib and instinctually put herself in front of him. Her heart was racing. Her wand was in the other room, so she had no choice- no way to protect him but her words. 

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” She pleaded, her voice cracking as she repeated the only thing she could think. 

“Stand aside, you silly girl. . . stand aside now.” 

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—” 

“This is my last warning—”

“Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy. . . have mercy. . . . Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I’ll do anything—" 

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

There was a flash of light. Lily dropped. The figure stepped over her and the rest of the rubble to the crib, where Harry sat unflinchingly. Harry grabbed the bars of the crib and reached up towards the hooded figure. 

The hooded figure paused at the crib, looking down at the child, before muttering the fateful words. 

“Avada Kedavra.”


	2. 8:49 pm Hogwarts Dungeon

October 31, 1981

8:47 pm

Hogwarts Dungeons

Snape closed his eyes and tilted his head back, away from the piles of parchment on his desk. He had thought that taking this position would be easy. He liked potions. He could tolerate children. But if he had to read another essay that looked like it had been written by a Cornish Pixie had gotten drunk, been dipped in ink, and staggered across the parchment, he was going to light the entire stack on fire. 

He stretched and leant back over the stack. He was about to start Gwenog Jones’ essay on Hair Raising Potions, that she had spelled Hair Rising Potions, which was a good sign, when he noticed the Mark stinging. It didn’t burn, not in the way it normally did when the Dark Lord called. He put his quill in the holster, intending to look at it, but before he could, it started to hurt intensely, enough that it blocked out all other thoughts. 

Immediately, he stood up and sprinted across the room to the shelf. He knelt down, looking for a bottle of yellow liquid. He poured the entire thing into a shallow bowl and stuck his bare arm into it. The pain went away almost instantly. After about thirty seconds, he withdrew his arm and looked at it. The Mark was white, like a scar. 

His first thought after he saw the Mark was Lily. The Dark Lord had been looking for her for almost a month now. 

He must have found her. 

Snape tore out of his office, and raced down the hallway, no longer caring about who saw him or the Mark. He took the stairs two at a time, straight up four flights until he made it to the Headmaster’s tower.

As soon as he saw the gargoyle, he screamed out the password, “Fizzing Whizzbees”, from down

the hall. The gargoyle scraped aside, and he squeezed through the gap at top speed before racing up the steps, screaming as he did. “Dumbledore!” 

When he reached the top, he saw Dumbledore, startled slightly, sitting at his desk, with Fawkes on his arm. 

“Dumbledore, look.” He panted, pulling back his sleeve. 

Dumbledore rose slowly, and Fawkes leapt off of his arm. “What is it, Severus?” He asked, approaching Snape slowly. 

“The Mark has faded.” He told him. 

Dumbledore peered over his half moon spectacles at his arm, frowning. “Interesting.” 

“What does it mean?” 

Dumbledore hesitated, avoiding eye contact by staring at the Mark. He rubbed his finger over the Mark, which sent a jolt of pain up Snape’s arm. He winced. “What did you do to this?” 

“I didn’t do anything. It just started hurting and I put Essence of Murtlap on it.” 

“Severus, stay here. I have to go.” 

“What?” Snape snapped. “Tell me what this means.”

Without responding, Dumbledore swept his cloak over his shoulder and strode away, back to the staircase. Snape pulled his wand out and wordlessly shot a spell at one of Dumbledore’s figurines. As it shattered, he flopped into a chair to wait. 


	3. 8:47 pm Malfoy Manor

October 31, 1981

8:47 pm

Malfoy Manor

Draco was beginning to get heavy in Narcissa’s arms as she bounced him around the room, but it was the stillest he had been all day so she didn't dare stop. 

As she paced past the crib, she felt a strange tingling sensation in her left arm, but ignored it, figuring it was just her arm falling asleep. Then, without warning, her arm exploded in searing pain. She doubled over in pain, and Draco slid out of her arms and landed on the ground. He started to wail but she was so distracted by the pain that she didn’t notice. She collapsed onto the ground and closed her eyes and waited for the pain to go away. 

It felt like her arm was on fire. She pressed it up against her ribs, trying as hard as she could to stop the pain. When the pain finally subsided, gradually fading to a dull pain, she found herself curled up on the floor, with Draco hiccupping and whining next to her. She looked down and saw her left arm covered in blood. She felt somewhat dizzy. 

She grabbed a cloth from the floor and wiped off the blood. As she did, she noticed something strange. Her Dark Mark was no longer black. It was a pale pink. 

She pulled herself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall and reached out for Draco with her right arm. She picked him up and held him against her side. He leaned back and started playing with her necklace while she stared at her Dark Mark. 

She had never seen the Dark Mark become a scar before. This had to mean something significant. She already knew that tonight was supposed to be a big night. The Dark Lord had been planning this night for weeks, but had never told either her or Lucius why. He hadn’t even told Bellatrix. He had been trusting all of His followers less and less since that stupid boy had betrayed Him two years ago. Everything had been going wrong recently but the Dark Lord had promised all of them that it would be over tonight. 

Did the scar mean that it was all over? She took the necklace out of Draco’s mouth and hid it under her shirt. He went for it again, but she put him down and he crawled away. She rested her head back against the wall. It didn’t make sense for the Dark Lord to have erased the Mark if He had been successful. He would still need His Death Eaters in His perfect world, she reasoned, but she realized that there was no way to predict what He was doing. 

Then she realized that just because her Mark had faded didn’t mean everyone’s had. Everyone knew what happened to Death Eaters who the Dark Lord was no longer satisfied with. Maybe that was what was happening. Maybe she had lost favor with Him. And if she had, Lucius had too. 

She didn’t know where Lucius was. Maybe she would never see him again. Maybe he was already dead. She wondered if the Dark Lord would come for her or for Lucius first. 

As if to answer her question, there was a muffled, echoing bang, from directly downstairs, and immediately knew who it was. It was Him. He was here for her and Draco. Immediately, she scooped Draco up from where he sat on the floor and quickly dumped him in the crib because it was the easiest place to defend. She reached for her wand on the table where she normally kept it, but it wasn’t there. She must have left it downstairs. Instinctually, she stepped in front of the crib. 

From the hallway came the sound of footsteps, and she gritted her teeth, ready to face Him when He came through the door. 

The door flung open and Lucius was standing there, his hair pale in the light from the candles. 

“Narcissa?” He said, but before he got the words out, Narcissa’s knees buckled and she hit the ground. 

Immediately, Lucius flew over to her and knelt down. “Narcissa.” He said in a hoarse whisper, squatting down next to her. “Are you okay?” 

She nodded, too shaken to answer verbally. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, and, in response, she wrapped hers around him. “Are you?” She finally said, her voice broken and shaky. 

He nodded. “I’m fine.” 

Narcissa felt his chest rise and fall beside her. At first, it was quick, like he had just been running, but, as they sat there together, it slowed to match hers. They stayed intertwined, both of them collapsed on the floor, for so long that Draco sitting in the crib behind them stopped fussing and fell asleep. 

Narcissa broke away first. She grabbed Lucius’ arm and pulled back the sleeve. His Mark was just like hers, pink, a fresh scar. “Yours too?” He asked. 

She leant back against the wall. “Yes.” She told him. “What could it mean?” 

He joined her against the wall and rested his head on her shoulder. She rested her head on his. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you know what happened tonight?” She asked. 

“No.” He told her. “I know that there was something big happening tonight but I have no idea what.” 

“Do you think it means He’s going to kill us?” Narcissa asked. What once seemed like the worst possible thing in the world now felt okay with Lucius’s hand in hers. She could survive this. She could survive anything. As long as Lucius was there. 

“If He was going to kill us, He wouldn’t give us a warning.” Lucius answered. “You remember what happened to that skinny little man who told an Auror about His work in Gringotts. Parkinson, I believe. He didn’t get a warning.”

Narcissa nodded. “Then what does it mean?” She asked again. 

“I think it means-” He said hesitantly. “I think it means- that He’s dead.” 

“Dead?” Narcissa echoed in a whisper. Her fear leaked through. They were the Dark Lord’s most powerful followers, and everyone knew that. If the Dark Lord was dead, they rose to the top of the hit list. If the Dark Lord was dead, the Ministry would come after them next. 

“I don’t know.” Lucius told her. 

“What do we do if He is?” She asked. They had never discussed this before. Something about the way He acted made it seem like He could sense any sign of treachery. 

He picked his head up, pulling away from her as he did. “We have powerful friends.” He told her, turning to face her. “They’ll protect us.” 

“They’ll try to get as far away from us as possible.” Narcissa corrected. “They won’t want anything to do with us. We were with Him.” 

“They will value our fortunes over their morals.” Lucius told her. 

They stayed silent for a minute, both very much afraid of what would come the next morning. They watched Draco wiggle in his sleep. Narcissa spoke first. “He may not be dead.” 

Lucius returned his head to her shoulder, eyes still fixed on Draco. “We’ll be okay.” He said. “As long as we’re together.”


	4. 8:56 pm Hogwarts Grounds

October 31, 1981

8:56 pm 

Hogwarts Grounds, Groundskeeper’s Hut 

Hagrid heard the tea kettle whistling behind him. He quickly put down the plate of brownies that he had been working so hard to make and turned around. He carefully took the kettle off the stove and poured it all out into his favorite teacup. 

He put a teabag in the cup and stepped back. As soon as he did, there was a faint knock on his door. Startled, he jumped and then went to the door. 

On the other side of the door was Professor Dummbledore, smiling politely. Hagrid was not expecting him. 

“Professor Dumbledore, sir!” Hagrid exclaimed. “What’s wrong, sir?” 

Dumbledore smiled. “Good evening, Hagrid. May I come in?” 

Hagrid stepped back, letting Dumbledore come in, and Dumbledore swept in. He noticed Hagrid’s new puppy, Fang, who was gnawing on a bone next to the armchair, and knelt down to scratch him. “Is he new?” Dumbledore asked. 

Hagrid closed the door behind Dumbledore. “Yes, I got ‘im last month from Diagon Alley.” 

Dumbledore smiled warmly. Fang went back to the bone. “Hagrid, I have to ask a favor of you.” 

“Anything, Professor Dumbledore.” Hagrid answered. Ever since Dumbledore gave him a second chance, he had been willing to do anything that Dumbledore needed him to do. 

“I would like to ask you to go to Godric’s Hollow and check on the Potters.” Dumbledore requested. “I am concerned that some misfortune may have befallen them.” 

“Lily and James-” Hagrid said, his knees buckling slightly 

Dumbledore’s smile had faded into an expression of polite sadness. “I’m afraid so. I believe something important has happened there tonight and I would like you to check on them. I may be wrong, but should Lily and James be incapacitated, Harry needs to be brought to his aunt’s house in Surrey.” 

Hagrid stayed where he was. “I just can’t believe th’ Lily and James-” His voice broke before he could finish. 

“Of course time is of the essence.” Dumbledore said, stepping towards the door. “We must get Harry out of harm’s way as quickly as possible.” 

Hagrid stood up somewhat shakily and opened the door, which Dumbledore promptly stepped through.


	5. 11:34 pm Lestrange Estate

October 31, 1981

11:34 pm 

Lestrange Estate 

Rodolphus Lestrange strode confidently into the room as the doors swung open to accommodate him. Inside the room were several hooded figures, together in groups, whispering together. As he walked in, he heard the figures. All of them were concerned about their scars and, of course, the Dark Lord. 

Bellatrix walked in behind him. When she sensed the general atmosphere of worry in the room, she became angry. “What are you all worried about?” She asked. “Are you all doubting the power of our Lord?” 

She hissed at one man, the one who was nearest to her. “What, Avery? Would you run and hide like your father?” 

Avery responded quickly and angrily. “My father was loyal to his core.” As an afterthought, he added. “So am I.” 

Another man, from across the room, called out. “Did it happen to you too, Rodolphus?” 

Rodolphus nodded wordlessly. He shared the same passion that his wife did, but unfortunately did not as confident. His nod sent another whisper of murmurs echoing through the room. 

“Do you know where He is?” The man asked again. Bellatrix squinted, and realized that it was Crabbe. She nearly spit on the floor. He would hardly qualify to question the Dark Lord and was not worthy to know where He was. 

Rodolphus shook his head. “The Dark Lord did not tell me where He was going today, only that He would deal with a problem, the last threat to our power.” 

Bellatrix hissed again before Crabbe could respond. “Not that He needs to tell us anything. We live to serve Him and He owes us nothing!” 

The tension in the room was palpable. Crabbe answered. “Do the Malfoys know?” 

Rodolphus shook his head, scanning the room. “I was hoping Lucius was here. I haven’t been able to reach him.” 

A chill spread through the room, followed by more murmurs. No one knew what to make of their Marks fading, and the fact that the Malfoys were gone too didn’t help. Some thought privately that the Malfoys had betrayed Him. Others wondered if there was some sort of trap, and the Dark Lord had fallen to it, along with His trusted lieutenants. A man behind the Lestrange’s voiced the fear that all of them shared, although none of the were able to speak it. “So you don’t know where He is either? What if we’re wrong? What if He is-” 

Bellatrix whirled around and pointed her wand at him. Wordlessly, the man found himself choking on his own words. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare question Him.” 

A man at the end of the room, sitting in an armchair by himself, spoke up. “Look at you.” He addressed the room. “Snivelling cowards.” He turned around, looking at the fear on the faces of the men and women around him. “You all doubt so easily. You think anything can challenge His power?” 

He dramatically pulled back the sleeve on his left arm. “This is merely a test.” He announced. “The Dark Lord wishes to test our faith, and all of you have failed. You cowards are not truly loyal to Our Lord, and He will have His revenge. And those of us who never doubted, we will be rewarded.” 

He pressed a finger to the scar that once resembled a Dark Mark. The Death Eaters around him anticipated the familiar sting that they had experienced for so long, but no one felt anything. 

Silence fell. 

Rodolphus spoke. “We will act according to the Dark Lord’s will. We will assume He is still alive. Continue doing what you were doing yesterday. If no one hears from Him soon, we go out looking for Him.”

Quietly, the Death Eaters agreed. Rodolphus and Bellatrix were the closest servants to the Dark Lord in the room, and no one wanted to question them. If the Dark Lord did come back tomorrow, he would punish anyone who doubted Him. But none of that assuaged anyone’s doubts, and as they Apparated away, many of them began to secretly plan for the worst. 


	6. 1:24 am Godric's Hollow

November 1, 1981

1:24 am

Godric's Hollow 

Snape landed hard on his left ankle and he winced as he looked around the cold neighborhood. He let out an audible cry of pain as he saw the giant hole in the side of the house. 

He raced towards the house, barely noticing the pain shooting up his leg as he ran. As he ran up the walk, he saw that the door was open, and reflexively looked up for the Mark above the house, but the Mark wasn't there. He had no idea what that could mean.

He sped through the door and saw James Potter, lying across the floor, his face frozen in a look of panic. Snape ignored the brief jolt of smugness at having survived that asshole in the face of the overwhelming fear. If Potter was dead, that meant that Lily- Lily. 

He stepped over James Potter’s body and raced up the stairs. Down the hall, he could hear a baby crying, and he followed the sound through the open door. As soon as he walked in the door, he saw that the room was almost completely destroyed. Half of the room had exploded outwards, and the furniture around it was destroyed. He looked down and saw Lily’s body, crumpled on the ground. As he saw that, the rest of the world seemed to fade away for a minute. All he saw was Lily.

He was somewhat aware of falling to his knees beside her and holding her limp body close to him. He could feel his eyes stinging as his vision blurred. Sitting there, in Godric’s Hollow, he no longer cared what happened around him. He wasn’t even aware of the baby crying next to him. The only thing he could feel was this overwhelming feeling of loss. Dumbledore had told him that working with the Order would save Lily, and, even throughout everything else, he had allowed himself to hope that there was still some chance Lily would fall for him. But now, holding her body, there was no more hope. As he cried, he desperately wished that something, somewhere had been different. Maybe if he hadn’t started talking to Mulciber at Hogwarts. Or maybe if he hadn’t slipped and called her mudblood, he wouldn’t be holding her now. These thoughts made the tears leak out of his eyes and streak out of his face. 

It took hours before Snape stopped crying and stood back up again. Gently, he laid Lily’s body down on the ground. He stood over her body, and realized that this was the last time he would ever see her again. That thought made him tear up again. He would give anything to see her eyes one more time. 

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he bent down and grabbed a photograph. The little one was trying to hold a cat, and James Potter was helping him. Behind them, Lily Evans was bent over, laughing. Her eyes were squeezed shut because of how big her smile was. Snape felt a pang in his chest, and tore part of the photograph. He pocketed the part containing Lily Evans, and turned on his heel, disappearing instantly. 

He disappeared so quickly that he did not notice the baby in the crib, watching him intently with his large, piercing green eyes. 


	7. 4:09 am Bagnold's residence

November 1, 1981

4:09 am 

Bagnold residence

Millicent Bagnold was dreaming as she was tangled up in her blankets. She was dreaming about being in a meeting. It was a boring dream, but all of her dreams nowadays were boring and routine, about being in the Ministry. She had only been Minister of Magic for a year and a half, but it had consumed every part of her life, including her dreams. The conflict with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a war that it felt like they were losing. More and more Aurors went missing everyday. 

She was sharply awakened from her dream by a rapping on her window. She sat up and opened the window. It was, of course, an owl, waiting impatiently for her with a frown. There was no clue what could possibly be in the letter, but she had a sinking suspicion that it might have something to do with the situation in Ireland. She unfolded the letter to find, in swirling scrawl, the words  _ Please meet me at your office immediately. -A.  _

A was one of two people. Either it was Albus Dumbledore or Alastor Moody. She wasn’t sure which one it was, but either way, she would need to go back to the office. She had left after midnight. Sighing, she got dressed and Apparated to the office. 

Sitting in the chair opposite her desk was Dumbledore. He was calmly sipping tea out of a teacup. 

“Good morning, Millicent.” He said, calmly. “Would you like a lemon drop?” 

Millicent rubbed her eyes, wishing she could go back to bed. “Sure.” She had long ago accepted the headmaster’s quirk of Muggle sweets, and some of them weren’t as bad as she thought they would be, although nothing would replace her love of fudge flies. She popped the lemon drop in her mouth and continued. 

“Why are you here at 4 in the morning, Dumbledore?” 

“I come bearing good news.” Dumbledore explained curiously. “Although I must say, it does come with an overwhelming loss as well. Nothing can be worse, of course, than the loss of young love.” 

Millicent furrowed her brow. She was accustomed to Dumbledore’s air of mystery by this point, but still not used to it enough to understand what he was talking about. Especially not at 4 in the morning. “What do you mean?” 

“My dear minister,” Dumbledore elaborated. “The war that we have been fighting is over. We are free from Voldemort-” Here the minister flinched. “At last.” 

It still took a minute for that to sink in, but when it did, Millicent almost jumped up in the air for joy. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead?” 

Dumbledore nodded. “Although, I am afraid that it does come at the cost of two of your Aurors: Lily and James Potter.” 

Millicent nodded, unfazed. “This is a momentous day indeed. Thank you for waking me.” At this point, she was completely awake, all thoughts of sleep gone. “I will inform the Daily Prophet right away. I’m sure that Skeeter girl is still awake. After that, we will need to begin to round up the remainder of his followers. I think Moody had a plan for that. He’ll be relieved to know-” 

“Of course.” Dumbledore interrupted. “The loss of the Potters is a tragedy.” 

Millicent looked at him, exasperated. “Yes, of course. We will all grieve the loss of the Potters. But they understood what they were getting into when they signed up to be Aurors. The loss of two people will prevent the loss of thousands in the future.” 

Dumbledore seemed crestfallen. To cheer him up, Millicent continued. “Think of the greater good, Dumbledore.” 

Dumbledore nodded. “Of course. The greater good.” 

Without another word, he stood up and left her office. Millicent hardly noticed him leaving, already scratching out a letter to Alastor Moody informing him of the good news. 


	8. 5:41 am Privet Drive

November 1, 1981 

5:47 AM 

Number 5 Privet Drive 

The quiet night was barely distrubed when a single tabby cat appeared without warning on top of the perfectly polished garden fence at Number 5, Privet Drive in Surrey. It was not clear where the cat had come from, as it seemed to have appeared from thin air. 

The cat focused on the house across the street, Number 4, Privet Drive. It seemed overly unremarkable. Very boring, actually. There were neat hedges, hidden behind the garden fence. The house was overly gray. 

The cat decided that this was the strangest place for any relative of Lily Potter’s. Lily had been practical in class, always focused on studying, but this sad excuse for a house looked so far from Lily’s excitement and passion that she had always shown that the cat decided that something had to be wrong. About a year ago, Dumbledore had told her about this house, as insurance, just in case anything happened to him, but she must have misremembered the address somehow. 

On the other hand, the cat reasoned, Dumbledore was somewhat unpredictable. It was possible that this house was merely an illusion, or that this house itself was part of another Fidelius Charm. There was any number of excuses for why this house looked so boring. 

Part of the cat couldn’t help but hope that this was simply a myth. The Potters were so young, just starting their life. While there were times in class teaching James Potter that she had wished she could smack some sense into him, he and his friends had definitely been an adventure to teach. The cat hoped it was all just another one of those rumors that spread around, but knew that Dumbledore would know either way. If it was true, Dumbledore would be here sooner or later. 

The cat sat down on the wall. Regardless of anything else, there was nothing she could do not except wait. She had classes to teach today, students preparing for the O.W.Ls later this year, but that seemed less important than this today. She would watch Number 4 Privet Drive and see what the Potters’ only living relatives were like. 


	9. Daily Prophet

DAILY PROPHET 

NOVEMBER 1, 1981 

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED DEAD AT LAST!

By Barnabus Cuffe

This morning, November 1, 1981, it was confirmed by the Minister of Magic that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated once and for all last night. While the circumstances around the death are unclear, it is clear that former Aurors James and Lily Potter are also dead. James and Lily Potter are survived by their son, Harry. Sources say that Harry Potter survived a direct attack from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and still lived. We at the Prophet are all grateful to James and Lily Potter for their sacrifice and to their son, the Boy Who Lived. 

Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold said that today is a day to celebrate. As wizards across the world wake up, they will, for the first time in years, know a world that is free from the influence of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We urge Daily Prophet readers to enjoy the day today.

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt reached out to the Daily Prophet to confirm this story, but to caution readers that this victory does not necessarily mean an end to this war. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had many followers, and those followers are still active and seeking revenge.” Shacklebolt said in his statement. Another Auror who requested to remain anonymous, advised that readers exercise “constant vigilance” against practitioners of the Dark Arts.

_ Continued on Page 3 _


	10. 7:56 am Dumbledore's Office

November 1, 1981

7:56 am 

Hogwarts, Dumbledore’s Office

Snape collapsed into the chair, unable to comprehend anything. All he could do was cry again. He thought it was over when he had left Godric’s Hollow, but as soon as he had gotten back to Hogwarts and faced the idea of continuing, still living life, teaching, but in a world without Lily Evans in it, it had started again. 

He was vaguely aware of Dumbledore coming over to him and placing his hand on his shoulder, and that touch filled him with anger. This man had the nerve to touch him after he had lied. Dumbledore had said that Lily Evans would be safe if he, Snape, worked for Dumbledore. And now. 

“I thought . . . you were going . . . to keep her . . . safe. . . .”

“She and James put their faith in the wrong person,” said Dumbledore. “Rather like you, Severus. Weren’t you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?” 

Snape tried to take a breath, but his chest felt tight. He wanted to fight, to start casting spells at wild, to destroy the silly glass objects that Dumbledore always had in his room. He wanted things to break. He wanted to be angry at Dumbledore, at Voldemort, at anything, because blaming anyone else was so much easier than going back to the hours he had spent holding her, blaming himself. If it wasn’t Dumbledore’s fault, then it was Snape’s. 

“Her boy survives,” said Dumbledore, and Snape flinched when he said it. He vaguely remembered that boy in the crib that he had seen, but that seemed to be no concern, and he was getting sick and tired of the way that Dumbledore was focusing on these little things as if he couldn’t see the horrible, world-ending loss that had changed everything. 

“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?” 

“DON’T!” bellowed Snape, letting out the anger that had been simmering in his heart for years, his entire life, it felt like. “Gone . . . dead . . .” 

“Is this remorse, Severus?” 

The anger was gone. There was nothing left inside him except that cold, dull emptiness. He had been dreading feeling like this for months. But, in a world with no Lily, that would be all there would ever be. “I wish . . . I wish I were dead. . . .” 

“And what use would that be to anyone? If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.” 

The words that Dumbledore said didn’t really seem to make any sense. What was his way forward? Was there really a way forward? After a moment of trying to understand, he finally spoke. “What — what do you mean?” 

“You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.” 

Snape shook his head. “He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone —” 

“The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.”

Snape paused. He tried again to take a deep breath, and this time, it was easier. As his breath came in, it made him feel more calm. There would never be anything that could replace Lily Evans. She would never be replaced. But if this was his fault, he owed Lily at least the protection that he could offer the boy. 

At last he said, “Very well. Very well. But never — never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear . . . especially Potter’s son . . . I want your word!” 

“My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?” Dumbledore sighed, looking down at Snape with concern and sadness. “If you insist . . .”

Snape flopped forward, putting his head back into his hands. He knew that classes would be starting soon, so he didn’t have much time left to sit in Dumbledore’s office, but the idea of walking down to the dungeons again make him feel like collapsing. Dumbledore gave Snape’s shoulder one more pat and then went back to his desk. 


	11. 8:30 am Privet Drive

November 1, 1981

8:30 am

Number 4, Privet Drive 

Vernon Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, 2 because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive. 

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar -- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen -- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day. 

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills. 

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery. 

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. 

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry" 

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. 

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...


	12. 9:22 am Sirius's Flat

November 1, 1981

9:22 am 

Sirius’s flat

Sirius Black sniffed the denim jacket from the floor. It smelled alright, but not great. 

“Scourgify.” He muttered under his breath, tapping the jacket with his wand. It cleaned itself right up, and, he was pleased to notice, even added a nice crisp fold at the front. 

He pulled the jacket up over his arms and buttoned it in the front. Behind him, the tea kettle started whistling. 

“Accio.” He muttered, and both the kettle and a cup from the cupboard flew towards him, already pouring water into the cup. He added the teabag manually and walked over the window. 

Looking out, he saw a man in a gray robe wandering down the middle of the road, yelling and shooting sparks out of his wand. Sirius was amused to see the businessmen who were walking to wherever it was that Muggle businessmen walk to giving the man a wide berth. Sirius waved his wand again and a biscuit came over to him. Sirius took a bite and looked down at the man again. It was funny, but giving it a second thought, there was no telling what could be going on with him. He could be a trap. He could be crazy. Sirius opened his window just a crack to hear what was going on. 

“He’s dead! We’re free!” The man was saying excitedly. “Rejoice!” 

Sirius thought about that for a second. Who was dead? He didn’t dare to hope that it was You-Know-Who. But the idea that this man would celebrate anything else wouldn’t make sense. A nagging voice in the back of his head suggested again that it was just a trap. He slammed the window shut and took another bite of his biscuit. He tried to put it out of his head, but the curiosity kept nagging at him. 

He hadn’t been going outside much, not since the Preweitts had died. When he left, he tried to make sure it was for Order business only, and mostly at night. At this point, he was sure Remus knew where he lived, so leaving the area protected by the spells on his flat was dangerous. He had been getting restless, staying cooped up in this place, but understood it was for his protection. Something flew past his window. Sirius walked back to the window, and looked up. 

There were dozens of owls flying around. Something was happening. Something big. 

At last, he conceded. He put on a shirt and pants, and then stepped out of his flat. He locked the door with his wand, and as he did, the door faded from existence with a slurp. 

Sirius started walking. There was a wizard store over on Victoria St. He walked south, enjoying the fresh air. Ahead, he saw a woman in a witches’ hat, who was running around giving hugs to anyone who crossed her path, including Muggles. 

“You-Know-Who is dead at last!” She screamed with glee. Sirius stopped short. He stepped to the side of the sidewalk and listened. He hesitated to walk up to her, still afraid it was a trap. Mostly, people seemed to not believe her. It didn’t seem to stop her at all. Sirius smiled as he kept walking. It was amusing, and he hoped it was real. 

When Sirius made it to the newspaper shop, he saw the headline in the paper before he got close enough to see the text. 

_ He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Dead At Last.  _

Sirius’s heart leapt in his throat. This was what he had hoped for. After everything that they had been through, it was finally over. You-Know-Who was dead. They could stop hiding. He and James could go back to the way things were. Harry could finally have a normal childhood. For a second, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, Sirius could see their futures flash before his eyes. They would know soon if Remus was trustworthy, and then the five of them could grow old together, just like they used to talk about in Hogwarts. Back then, he talked about never wanting children, but now, if he met the right person, he could see having a child with them. Maybe Peter could be his child’s godfather, like he was Harry’s. They would be one big family. 

Sirius decided to go visit James and Lily. Maybe they didn’t know. Sirius could picture what it would be like to tell them they were finally free. He wanted to go buy some elf-made wine so they could toast to the future. He came into the shop. 

“One elf-wine.” He said. The house-elf behind the counter smiled at him. 

“Of course, sir.” She answered him. “Lots to celebrate today.” 

Sirius smiled as he pulled out his wallet and his change. An idea struck him. It would be great to have a copy of this newspaper for the future. 

“And one  _ Daily Prophet. _ ” He said. 

“Of course sir.” The elf handed him a copy of the Daily Prophet. He handed her the total, still smiling, until he looked down. Then his world shattered. 

“former Aurors James and Lily Potter are also dead”

Peter. Something happened to Peter. If Lily and James were dead, then Peter must be too, and no one knew. 

Sirius spun on his heel and disapparated. He disappeared so quickly that the change fell out of his hand onto the forgotten bottle of elf wine. He couldn’t Apparate to Peter’s house, or to Godric’s Hollow, for that matter, so he would need to go on his motorcycle. He Apparated directly onto the motorcycle, landing a little hard, and zoomed off. 

He didn’t bother worrying about what Muggles would think as his motorcycle started to ride up into the sky. All that mattered was finding Peter. 

Sirius was surprised to see that there was no Mark above Peter’s duplex as he flew overhead. He landed and put the kickstand down, then turned to notice that the house was untouched. The door was unopened, still on its hinges. Sirius’s heart started pounding. He had seen many houses after an attack from Death Eaters. He had never seen one look so pristine. Peter had been hiding in his house too. They all had been, even Remus. If he had been attacked, this house didn’t show it. 

Sirius pressed against the door, expecting it to open. It did not open. It was locked. Sirius murmured, “Alohomora.” It didn’t open. 

This gave him some pause. Why would Pettigrew’s door be locked from the inside? 

“Bombarda!” Sirius said, and the door was flung open. He ran inside. “Peter!” 

The room was immaculate, as Pettigrew had always been. There was no signs of struggle downstairs. Sirius ran upstairs, desperately searching for anything there. Upstairs was the same as downstairs. Pettigrew’s bed was neatly made, but there were dirty clothes in the hamper. It was clear he had been living here. And that he was fine. James and Lily were dead and Pettigrew was fine. 

Sirius saw red, and immediately, he raced back outside. He needed to go to Godric’s Hollow. He needed to see for himself. 


	13. 9:31 am Longbottom Residence

November 1, 1981

9:31 am

Longbottom residence

Augusta Longbottom slowly lowered Neville into the crib, careful not to make any sudden movements. He had cried all night and she had spent almost two hours putting him back to sleep. He cried too much. Frank had never cried this much. 

She withdrew her hands from the crib and quietly turned around. She flinched as the floorboard creaked beneath her, and looked over her shoulder, but Neville didn’t wake up. She breathed out, but didn’t relax until she got back into the rocking chair. She had just put her feet up when she heard a loud crash coming from downstairs 

“Shit.” A hushed voice said, slurring a little. 

“You’re going to wake her up.” Another, higher voice, also slightly hushed, whispered. 

“Oh please. She’s never woken up after 5 am in her life.” The first voice said again. 

Augusta swung her legs down off the chair and stood up, ready for Neville to wake up again, but somehow, he managed to stay asleep. She closed her eyes in relief and then went downstairs, wand drawn. 

Standing in the middle of her living room was her son, Frank, who was standing in the middle of what used to be her glass table. Next to him, behind the sofa, was Alice. Alice was holding a bottle of firewhiskey, which was a little empty already. Based on the way both of them were staggering around the room, it was pretty clear that this was not the first drink they had had. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Augusta told them. “What’s wrong?” 

Frank staggered towards Alice and wiggled his wand. “Reparo.” He slurred wildly. The glass shards wiggled half heartedly but did not reform into the table. “Shit, Mother, I’m sorry.” 

Augusta waved her own wand. “Reparo.” She said sternly, and the table reassembled. “Now, why are you here?” 

“Mother, haven’t you heard?” Frank asked. 

“The war is over!” Alice said loudly. “You-Know-Who is dead.” 

“What?” Augusta said. 

“Yeah.” Frank said. “He died at the Potters’ house.” 

Alice frowned. “But the Potters died too.” 

Augusta sat down in her high-backed armchair. “Please explain.” She said tensely. 

Frank frowned in concentration, then hiccuped. “I don’t actually know.” He said. “All I know is that it is finally over.” 

“Who told you?” His mother asked. 

“It’s all around the ministry.” Alice interrupted before Frank could answer her. “We woke up to an owl at the window from Rufus.” 

She pulled a letter out of her pocket and reads it aloud. “Frank and Alice- wanted to tell you that you no longer have to hide. You-Know-Who is dead. He died at the Potter’s house last night. We have lost two incredible Aurors and their sacrifice will be remembered for generations. Feel free to take today off to celebrate. -Rufus” 

Augusta took a breath. “I can’t believe that it’s over.” 

Frank sat down in the couch opposite her. “Believe it.” He told her contently. “We won. We survived. We can come out of hiding and live a normal life again.” 

Augusta leant forward in her chair. “I think that deserves a drink.” She took the firewhiskey from Frank, poured some of it into two glasses on the coffee table, and raised one of them. 

“To our troubles being over.”

Frank took the bottle back and Alice grabbed the other glass from the table and together, they echoed Augusta. 

“To our troubles being over.” 


	14. 11:44 am Godric's Hollow

November 1, 1981

11:44 am 

Godric’s Hollow 

Sirius collapsed to his knees as he saw Lily and James’s home. This looked so much different than Pettigrew’s house. The door was off its hinges. Upstairs, half of the house had exploded outwards, and wood and drywall was scattered across the street. 

Sirius ran inside, his motorbike falling to the street behind him. As soon as he made it inside, he saw James. James, who had adopted him when he ran away from home, who had gotten so many detentions with him, who had made Sirius the godfather of his child, was lying on the floor in a crumpled pile. 

Sirius could hear the blood rushing in his ears, but that was cut through by a cry from upstairs. Harry. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, Sirius raced towards Harry’s room. When he got there, he saw a dark figure, covered in hair, crouching over the crib. 

Mindlessly, Sirius whipped out his wand, and the spell had almost left his lips when he heard the gruff voice coming from the figure.

“There, there.” It said. “‘s a’right.” 

“Hagrid?” Sirius asked, his wand still drawn. 

The figure turned around, and Sirius was relieved to see that he was right. It was Hagrid. In Hagrid’s arms was Harry, who had a puffy, red face. Hagrid’s face was also red, and streaked with tears. In front of Hagrid, on the floor, was Lily. Sirius let out an audible gasp when he saw her body. 

“Oh Sirius.” Hagrid said. He looked miserable. “I jus’ can’t believe tha’ they- tha’ Lily and James are-” 

At the sight of Hagrid starting to cry again, Sirius started to feel tears welling up in his own eyes. He turned away, but felt Hagrid’s rather large hand grab his shoulder and pat him comfortingly. For just a moment, the two men stood there, in the destruction of the house, with baby Harry between them, and cried together. 

Once the tears had dried up, Sirius had a horrible thought. He couldn’t forget the conversation that they had had, sitting in Dumbledore’s office in Hogwarts, in the same seats that they used to when they got in trouble as teenagers, when he had begged James not to have Sirius as the Secret-Keeper. Pettigrew would have been the better choice, he thought. But now it was clear that he was wrong. If he hadn’t convinced them to use Pettigrew instead, they would still be alive. 

“This- This is my fault.” He said, looking at the destruction of the house around them and the sun streaming in through the windows. 

“No, don’t say tha’.” Hagrid protested. “No one could ha’ knew wha’ You-Know-Who would ha’ done. We had no idea.” 

Sirius clapped Hagrid on the shoulder. Hagrid had no idea, but Sirius appreciated that Hagrid had told him that. Harry started crying again, and both men looked down at him. Sirius was struck by a sense of urgency.

“Give Harry to me, Hagrid, I’m his godfather. I’ll look after him.” Sirius remembered the night that James had asked him to be Harry’s godfather. Lily was fit to burst pregnant, and Sirius had come to the house with a huge chocolate fudge cake from the best Muggle baker that he knew. When Lily had had enough, and went to bed, James brought it up. Sirius had thought he was joking, but when he said that, James was deadpan. He told Sirius that Sirius was the brother that he had always treasured, and that he couldn’t think of a better man to be Harry’s father if something happened to them. That was not a hypothetical for either of them, and both understood the likelihood that any of them could die at any point. Sirius had accepted, of course. 

Hagrid stepped back. “I dunno. Dumbledore tole me Harry is ter go ter his aunt and uncle’s house.” 

Sirius was surprised. James didn’t have any siblings. “What aunt and uncle?” 

Hagrid shrugged. “I think she’s Lily’s sister an’ all.” He said simply. “I jus’ do wha’ Dumbledore tells me ter.” 

“Lily’s sister? The Muggle?” Sirius asked, incredulously. “What kind of life will that be for him? Do you even know anything about her?” 

“I know it’s what Dumbledore wants.” Hagrid insisted, not making any movements to hand over Harry. 

“I’m Harry’s godfather, Hagrid.” Sirius repeated, but as he said that, he realized that he had no idea how to raise a child. When Harry was younger, Sirius had babysat and changed diapers, but he hadn’t even seen Harry in almost three months. Did he still need diapers? Did he need milk? He had been serious when he agreed to take care of Harry, but he had never dreamed Harry would be so young. Those Muggles couldn’t raise Harry in the wizarding world like Sirius could, but they could actually raise him. 

Besides, while he was cooped up all day in the flat, he was conscious of the way he had begun acting more and more like his mother. He couldn’t live with himself if he gave Harry the same torturous upbringing that he had. He remembered at school, that Lily had talked about her sister- Pansy?- and how much Pansy loved the wizarding world. Maybe Harry would be raised to appreciate magic after all. Also, this was Dumbledore’s will, and Sirius trusted Dumbledore completely. He knew what was best. 

As he was convincing himself of this, another thought was forming in his mind. He needed to find Pettigrew. He would have to pay for what he did.

“Let me hold him one more time?” Sirius asked. 

Hagrid conceded, and Sirius took Harry into his arms. 

“I’ll get whoever did this to you, okay, Harry?” Sirius whispered. “I promise. I will be there for you. I promise, no matter what happens, even if you can’t see me, I will do whatever it takes to protect you.” 

He handed the baby back reluctantly, and turned to go, then turned back. “Hagrid?” He asked. 

Hagrid looked at him, still puffy. “Yes?” He sniffled. 

“How were you planning to get Harry to his aunt’s house?” 

Hagrid shrugged. “I hadn’t thought abou’ tha’.” He admitted. “I though’ we could take the train.” 

Sirius shook his head. “Look, take my bike. I won’t need it anymore.” 

Hagrid nodded. “Thanks.” He grunted, then squeezed past him back outside. 

Sirius knelt down to face Lily’s body. It already smelled a little. “I’m sorry Lily.” He said honestly. “I’m going to find Pettigrew, I promise.” 

He stood up and walked slowly down the stairs. As he did, he heard the motorcycle revving. As he stepped off the final step, he was able to look out the window in time to see the motorcycle start to ascend. He had a sinking feeling it was the last time he would see Harry, but tried to convince himself that it was for the better. 

“James.” He said, looking at his best friend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t take Harry. I know you wanted me to, but I need to find Pettigrew. He has to pay for this. Someone has to. Harry will probably be better off with Pansy anyway.” 

Sirius thought for a second, standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by toys and memories. He felt that there was something else that he should say, but didn’t have anything else. He wished that he could have told James and Lily how much they meant to him before they died. He wished they didn’t die. 

Resigned to the fact that they were dead, and that he was going to kill Pettigrew or die trying, Sirius left Godric’s Hollow for the last time. 


	15. 12:29 pm The Burrow

November 1, 1981

12:29 pm 

The Burrow

Molly Weasley tried to balance the baby in one arm while she used the other hand to open the window. 

“Boys!” She called into the garden. “Last chance to come in for lunch!” 

She walked back into the dining room, just in time to catch baby Ron as he tripped over his own feet. He had just learned how to run, but his chubby little legs sometimes couldn’t keep up. 

The first two came in, their little red heads bobbing as they ran up to the table. As they came in, the twins were talking nearly constantly. 

“Nuh uh, you would be Rudolf Brand!” Fred said angrily. “I wanna be somebody cool, like Dumbledore!” 

“Dumbledore doesn’t even play Quidditch!” George insisted. He couldn’t quite make all of the sounds in Quidditch, but Fred could understand him. 

“Yeah, but if he did, it would be like -pshew pew boom-” Fred continued. “And you would be like “Awwww.” 

They pulled themselves into their chairs. Molly was happy to see that Fred crawled up into his own chair and George crawled into his own chair. They had been experimenting with switching identities, but today they were doing it right. 

“Mom, why sandwiches again?” Fred asked. 

“Because sandwiches are good for you.” Molly said, trying to scoop up Ron with one hand while still holding Ginny. 

“Why?” George asked. 

“Because they have lots of vitamins.” 

“Why?” 

“Because tomatoes get vitamins from the ground.” Molly explained. Arthur was better at this game than she was. His knowledge never seemed to run out. 

Charlie came in through the kitchen, holding a small stick that was wiggling and moving. Percy came in behind him, whining. 

“Charlie, Mom said you’re not allowed to have any more animals.” 

Charlie turned around. “Shhhh!” He scolded Percy. “Mom doesn’t have to know.” 

“Doesn’t have to know what?” Molly asked from the other room, chasing after Ron, who was running away from her arms. 

“No!” Ron said. He had learned that word from the twins recently. 

“Nothing!” Charlie said too quickly from the other room. 

Percy came into the dining room smugly. “Charlie caught a bo-tuck- a bo-.” He said in a sing-song voice as he sat in his seat. 

Charlie quickly followed. “Shut up, Percy.” Molly caught a glimpse of his fist as he punched Percy in the arm. 

“Charlie.” She said. Her tone made all the boys stiffen up. They knew not to mess with Mom when she talked like that. “You know you’re not allowed to hit your brother. Apologize.”

Sheepishly, Charlie apologized. “I’m sorry, Perce.” 

Letting Ron run rampant for a second, Molly walked over to Charlie. “What did you find?” She asked. 

Charlie excitedly unfurled his fingers. “It’s called a bowtruckle. I read about it in the book that Uncle Fabian gave me.” Behind Molly, the twins started arguing amongst themselves again. 

Molly looked at his hands. Cupped between his palms was a small creature that looked more like a stick with arms and legs. “Oh wow!” She said. “Where did you find him?” 

“I found him in the big tree in the backyard.” Charlie said, puffing his chest out with pride. 

“That’s really cool!” Molly encouraged. “Are you going to put him back?” 

Charlie looked at the bowtruckle. It was clear that he did not want to put it back, but that Mom did. 

“What did the book say that bowtruckles like?” Molly prompted. 

“Being outside, in the trees.” Charlie admitted, sounding glum. 

Molly put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “I think the bowtruckle would have more fun if you put him back in the tree, right?” 

Charlie nodded. “How about you keep him here for lunch and then after lunch, you can put him back?” Molly suggested. 

Charlie nodded again, albeit more enthusiastically. Molly put baby Ginny in the cradle in the kitchen and went to get a cup to put the bowtruckle in. While having their house covered in animals all the time was difficult, she loved how passionate Charlie was about his animals. 

She was interrupted by a rap on the window. She opened in, and in flew poor Errol, the owl that Arthur had bought for their last anniversary. He looked a little haggard already, but he stuck his leg out so that she could remove the letter attached to it. 

The letter was from Arthur, and scribbled in an excited scrawl that was barely legible.  _ You Know Who died last night. The war is over.  _

Molly dropped the glass she was holding on the floor and it shattered. 

“Mom!” Fred asked, tottering in to the kitchen. “Why did you drop the cup?” 

Ignoring him for a moment, Molly rushed into the living room. Sure enough, Arthur’s name on the clock had swung from Mortal Peril to Work. She collapsed onto the couch. 

It was over. 


	16. 1:40 pm Above Cardiff

November 1, 1981

1:40 pm 

Above Cardiff

The owl was slowing down as it approached the Muggle railyards. Pettigrew had to be somewhere nearby. Sirius thought that Pettigrew would at least be intelligent enough to cast some sort of Masking spell, but quickly realized that no one besides himself would be looking for Pettigrew. No one else knew about the Fidelius Charm.

The owl dived down into a crowd of Muggles in a city square, and Sirius followed, easily pushing the top of the broom downwards. He caught a glimpse of the stringy sandy blond hair that he remembered from Hogwarts, and it filled him with a rage again. 

He jumped from the broom and landed hard in the middle of the square, facing Pettigrew. Pettigrew was holding a Muggle newspaper, and wearing sunglasses, even though it was cloudy. As Sirius landed, he seemed to shrink down. Sirius couldn’t imagine what he was thinking right now, but he was hoping it was fear. 

Sirius whipped out his wand and wordlessly started casting curses. He was barely aware of what he was casting. All he knew was that Pettigrew betrayed James and Lily and he deserved to suffer. 

Pettigrew barely pulled out his wand in time to deflect the curses. 

“What are you doing?” Pettigrew asked. Sirius hoped he wasn’t imagining the fear he heard in his voice. 

“You killed them!” Sirius yelled, firing another Cruciatus Curse at him. “You killed them and I’ll make you pay!” 

Peter looked around while still desperately trying to . Sirius was always a better dueler than he was. That clearly hadn’t changed, and he could only hold Sirius’s spells for another minute or so. Then he spotted the Muggle drain in the sidewalk behind him, and he had an idea. 

Someone would have to take the fall for Lily and James’s murder. And who better than someone who was already a murderer? If Sirius killed him right now, then the only person who would know what actually happened would be Sirius. He could run. He could hide. All he needed to do was time it right. 

When Sirius paused for a second, Peter unleashed a Blasting Curse, and as soon as the spell came out of his mouth, he transformed into a rat and scuttled down into the drain. As soon as he got there, he realized that he was in pain. He looked down, only to realize that a few of his fingers were missing.  _ Oh well.  _ He thought. It would be more convincing. 

Above him, back in the human world, Sirius started laughing. He knew that Pettigrew was a horrible dueler, but this was just too perfect. The one strike Pettigrew had made back at him had killed him? Pettigrew never should have used a blasting curse. He looked around with dismay and saw the destruction in the streets. There were Muggles, lying dead in the street. Of course the filthy traitor would kill innocents. His last act of cowardice. 

Sirius stood up from where he had been thrown and was filled with an overwhelming sense of  _ Now what? _ . James was dead. Lily was dead. Pettigrew was dead. Good riddance. Part of Sirius had wished that Sirius would have died with Pettigrew. Now he had nothing left. Nothing except Remus. Sirius didn’t even know where Remus was anymore. He hadn’t wanted to see him, and now realized that wasn’t fair. He could find Remus and apologize. 

Predictably, wizards wearing robes from the Ministry began to appear around the town square. They rushed to work, waving their wands around and talking to Muggles. Sirius walked up to the one who appeared to be in charge. 

“Don’t worry, I -” Sirius started to explain, but before he could, a wizard from behind him cast a spell, and Sirius felt his body stiffen. He recognized this as Petrificus Totalus, but couldn’t figure out why he would be attacked like this. 

He fell to the ground, and was forced to look up to the cloudy sky and wish that today had never happened. 


	17. 3:13 pm Perth

November 1, 1981 

3:13 pm 

Perth 

Grace MacDonald hated her job. Working at the switchboard meant essentially listening to impatient people constantly, and she didn’t get anywhere near close enough to a break. Ever since Mary had gone on maternity leave, they had been expected to work more hours with fewer people, which had resulted in longer wait times, which meant even more angry customers. 

She had been looking forward to going to the pub after work, and when her shift was finally over at 3:00, she could not get out of the room fast enough. She punched out at record speed, and hurried out into the street. 

When she turned the corner to the Stuart Inn, she was surprised to see that there was quite a scene happening outside. People in the weirdest clothes were drunk outside, crowded all around the door. Grace squeezed past a man wearing a Speedo over arse-less chaps and into the bar. She was disappointed to see that the inside was just as full of weird people. Elbowing her way towards the bartender, she fought her way past at least nine people in long robes, and one woman in a witch’s hat. 

“Leo, what’s going on?” She asked him. 

He was in the middle of pouring a pint for a man who looked to be at least a hundred years old, with wizened white hair covering his head, fingers, ears, and nose. He shook his head as he walked over towards her, slamming the pint down on the counter on the way. 

“I have no idea.” He told her. “I know they’re celebrating that someone is dead, but I have no idea who.” 

From across the room, Grace heard a cheer. She turned around in time to see a man who seemed to be very drunk. It looked like he was wearing part of a donkey costume, at least the ears, although Grace was impressed with how realistic they looked. He also was braying like a donkey, although Grace knew it was just an impression. 

She turned to the woman next to her as Leo poured her the usual draft. “What’re you all here for?” She asked. 

The woman, one of those in the long robes, hiccupped slightly as she turned to her. “Merlin’s beard, you Muggles have no idea what’s going on, do you?” 

Grace turned to Leo, who shrugged. She had no idea what a Muggle was or why she was being called one. Nor had she heard anyone ever swear by Merlin or any of the other knights of the round table. 

“Look, hon.” The woman said, putting her hand on Grace’s shoulder. Grace shuddered as she caught a strong whiff of alcohol. “You-Know-Who is dead. Even Muggles should be celebrating today. The war is over! We are free!” 

Grace turned back to Leo. “They’ve been like this since seven.” 

“Seven in the morning?” Grace asked. 

Leo nodded. He looked just as tired as she felt. Grace turned back to the woman next to her, but she had turned away to the person next to her, who had pulled out a stick, which she had pointed to her head and was reciting something. 

“When asked today about the International Statute of Secrecy, Minister Bagnold said that there were more important things today, saying “I assert our inalienable right to party.” 

The woman next to Grace cheered, and her enthusiasm was so great that she knocked over Grace’s pint, all over the robes of the man next to her. 

“Oh shit.” He said, although his words were barely understandable from the amount of alcohol he had been drinking. He pulled out a stick from his coat and wiggled it. It dropped to the ground next to him and he swore. 

“I guess I’m gonna go home.” Grace gave up. “How much?” She pulled out her wallet, but the woman next to her shook her head. 

“Let me pay for you today!” She yelled, pulling out her own wallet. She offered Leo some foreign coins, gold and silver. They certainly weren’t pounds, and Grace thought that they weren’t francs either, although she wouldn’t bet on that. 

“I’m sorry, I only accept pounds.” Leo said. 

“Oh shit, Muggle money.” The woman said. She turned to the woman next to her. “Do you have Muggle money?” 

The woman next to her shook her head, and the search continued for anyone who had pounds. As the search spread, Leo’s face fell more and more. 

“Are you kidding?” He said loudly. “Does anyone here have money?” 

Grace left the payment for her drink on the counter and slipped out of the pub, ready to go somewhere else. 


	18. 4:19 pm Ministry of Magic Department of Magical Law Enforcement

November 1, 1981

4:19 pm 

Ministry of Magic Department of Magical Law Enforcement

“Sirius Black, you stand before the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement accused of fifteen counts of murder. You are accused of murdering James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and twelve Muggles.” 

Sirius listened to Barty Crouch list the names of the Muggles, confused. He hadn’t understood why they arrested him in the first place and then left him in a cell for three hours. But now it was all making sense. They thought he had killed all of those people?

“No!” He interrupted, and Barty Crouch turned up his nose at having Sirius interrupt. 

“Mr. Black, you will have an opportunity to speak for yourself later.” He said, cutting off Sirius’s protests. Sirius had heard about his methods. These “trials” were worthless, just show trials. He and Remus had argued about these earlier. When they were being used on known Death Eaters, he had admired them and how they actually got results. 

He watched in horror while people from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement gave evidence saying that he had killed those men, that he had set off the blasting curse. Muggles had heard Pettigrew yelling that Sirius had killed James and Lily, even though Sirius had said that. Officials confirmed that they hadn’t found any of Pettigrew’s body, only a few fingers. Sirius had tried to protest to explain that he had turned into his Animagus form, but had been interrupted again. 

“Regarding the charges of murdering James Potter and Lily Evans Potter, The Ministry would like to hear evidence from Albus Dumbledore.” 

Sirius craned his neck. Behind him, Albus Dumbledore stood up and walked forward, to the center of the room. 

“Thank you, Mr. Crouch.” Dumbledore said. Sirius looked up at him desperately. He had to explain. Sirius knew that he had caused a lot of trouble in Hogwarts, so Dumbledore had been more likely to discipline him than defend him, but he was Sirius’s last hope. Besides, the last few years, Sirius had been working alongside Dumbledore in the Order, blindly following Dumbledore’s orders. 

“A horrible tragedy has taken place in Godric’s Hollow today, The world has lost two incredible young people, James and Lily Potter, and their loss is one that we will regret forever.” Dumbledore paced back and forth across the floor as he spoke. 

“Mr. Crouch, about a year ago, I became… aware that the Potters would be targeted by Voldemort.” Even now, at his name, a shiver ran through the crowd. 

“I sought to offer the Potters every protection from Voldemort’s anger that I could, and that came in the form of the Fidelius Charm. I taught the Potters how to use it.” Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at Crouch. “I am sure, Mr. Crouch, that you are familiar with the Fidelius Charm, but allow me to explain for those in the room who are not aware of this particular charm. This charm operates over a single location, such as the Potter’s house, and hides the location totally from everyone. The knowledge of the location is held by a single, trusted individual, who is able to disclose that location to those who are trusted. It is, in my most humble opinion, a rather useful spell, if one is truly an excellent judge of character. The Potters, as it has become unfortunately apparent, were not.” 

Sirius’s heart jumped into his throat. Dumbledore was going to explain everything, and this whole mistake would be cleared up. He would be free soon. 

Dumbledore turned to him with a crisp frown. “The Potters put their trust in their closest friend, the young Mr. Black here, and therefore, only he would have been able to reveal their location to Voldemort.” 

Sirius sprung out of his chair, ignoring the fact that he was shackled to it, so his arms nearly wrenched out of their sockets. 

“No!” He yelled. “It was Pettigrew! He did it! He was the Secret Keeper!” 

Mr. Crouch flicked his wand, and Sirius found himself magically silenced. 

“How convenient.” He said snidely, leaning forward across the tall desk he sat behind. “It was the man you murdered who betrayed the Potters. Tragically, we are not able to ask Pettigrew about his side of the story, are we?” 

Sirius tried to answer him, but he couldn’t speak. 

“This trial is concluded.” Barty Crouch said. “I, Bartemius Crouch Sr., sentence you, Sirius Black, to life in Azkaban.” 

Sirius tried to fight, to escape, to yell, to run, but he couldn’t. Dumbledore turned and walked away without speaking another word to him. Two wizards came to him and everything went black. 


	19. 5:08 pm Godric's Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Mentions of suicide

November 1, 1981 

5:08 pm 

Godric’s Hollow 

What remained of the house cut a staunch figure against the sky. The wind was starting to pick up, and a single man, who looked rather ragged, was the only one who noticed. Other people rushed by, on their way home or to the store or wherever it was that they needed to go on this cloudy Tuesday. They seemed not to notice the state of the house. 

The man, who was wearing oversized, mismatched clothing, was standing at the fence silently. His hands gripped the fence so hard that they turned white, but he did not go in, not daring to face what he might find inside the fence. 

Another man, with a long white beard, appeared behind him. He stepped forward, and joined the other man standing at the fence. For a minute, the two stood in complete silence, looking at the house. Neither man spoke. Neither had the words to say what they wanted to say. 

The man with the beard spoke first. “I didn’t think anyone would think to come here.” 

The younger man didn’t respond, still gripping the fence.

“I’ve always hated how quickly the world moves on. They talk about the victory and they celebrate and they ignore those of us who have to pick up the pieces they’ve left behind.” 

The older man caught a glimpse of a tear running down the younger man’s cheek. 

“They won’t be forgotten. None of us will forget the sacrifice they made.” He said, trying to channel his older brother to comfort the younger man. The younger man didn’t move. The older man gave up for a minute, looking around. He hadn’t been to this town in many years and did not miss it at all. Looking around brought those memories flooding back. 

The two men’s silence was interrupted by an older woman. She was wearing a shawl to protect her from the wind. She could see the house as well, and for a moment, she stood, awestruck by the sight, before approaching the two. 

“Where is that nice young woman?” She asked. “What happened to her?” 

The younger man leaned forward, not turning to face her, so the older man, realizing his duty, did. 

“Good afternoon, Professor Bagshot.” He greeted her. 

She hobbled over to him, and patted him on the cheek. “It’s good to see you again, dear. It’s been so long. How’s your sister?” 

The older man smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. He had heard that she was becoming senile, but didn’t know it had gone that far. “She’s fine, Professor.” 

“Glad to hear it. Where is that Lily girl?” 

The older man opened his mouth and closed it again without saying it. 

“She’s dead.” The younger man said, not moving. “So is James.” 

Bathilda shook her head and tsked. “Such a shame. She was young, too young to die, I think. Such a shame.” 

The older man nodded solemnly, wishing Bathilda would leave, but not knowing how to ask. She continued to talk about “that Lily girl” and her young son and his first birthday party. 

“I was the only one there, you know.” She bragged. “They told me they had so many friends who they invited, but I was the only one who came. Such a shame, the young boy. It’s not healthy to not have any friends his own age. Why, I told that Muriel Weasley just the other day that there was no real-” 

“Thank you, Professor.” The older man asked. 

Bathilda stopped, surprised, and then had a moment of clarity. She looked at the younger man. “You knew them well?” She asked him. 

He nodded wordlessly, unable to tell the woman how he knew them. She seemed to understand what he couldn’t say, and touched his arm comfortingly. 

“Are they still in there?” 

The younger man shook his head but did not speak. The Ministry had been by earlier to take the bodies, but they hadn’t cleaned it up yet. Soon they would be back. The charm would wear off and the Muggles would see the house as it was, and that would raise questions. So the Ministry would come fix it, as they always did. The world would move on. 

Bathilda broke the silence that ensued. “This should be a memorial space. We should leave this as it is, so that everyone remembers what happened to the Potters.” 

The older man deferred to the younger man, who nodded. It couldn’t bring them back, but it would at least be there in their memory. 

The woman started to wave her wand, muttering spells. She crossed the gate and walked through the garden, and anywhere she stepped, the world itself seemed to freeze. The grass stiffened. The curtains in what was once Harry’s bedroom no longer flapped in the wind, but held still. 

The older man joined in, feeling that he needed to contribute something to the site of this tragedy. He waved his wand, and all around the yard, vines rose up to protect the fence. With the vines grew a wooden sign. First the wooden stem grew, and then a sign emerged, unfolding itself like a flower. 

“I think you should engrave it.” The older man said to the younger. 

The younger man walked over to the sign and pulled out his wand, and then froze. Concerned, the older man walked over to him and put his hand on his shoulder. “What is it?” 

“I- I don’t know what to write.” The younger man said. His voice sounded small and broken. 

The older man was speechless. He had known loss too, but he had never known what to say. There was nothing that could possibly be said that could replace that feeling. 

“One of my best friends in the whole world died here, betrayed by a man who I used to call my friend. Then I read that he killed my other friend. I have no family left who will speak to me. I have no future and no one left in the present.” The younger man said. “What do I write for him and his wife?” 

The older man shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

The younger man looked up at the house again, and then turned around. He flopped down on the edge of the sidewalk, right where it met the road, and put his head in his hands. 

“Why should I stay alive?” He asked. “What reason is there to stay living?” 

The older man turned to face him. “You have to.” He told the younger man, getting older for every word that came out of his mouth. “You have to remember them. Remember all of your friends. Remember their favorite things and the way they took their tea and the way they were at school. You have to remember everything that no one else will.” 

He sat down next to him. “If you don’t, no one will.”


	20. 5:15 pm Grunnings Office

November 1, 1981 

5:15 pm 

Grunnings Office 

It had been a long and difficult day. Vernon Dursely had had no luck focusing on drills today. It was very difficult, what with all of the weird things going on. As he left the office, he ran into yet another weird thing, more specifically, a man. 

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" 

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off. 

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination. 

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -- and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes. 

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife. Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news: 

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" 

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight." 

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters... Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister. 

"No," she said sharply. "Why?" 

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..." 

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley. 

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd." 

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -- he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?" 

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly. 

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?" 

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me." 

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree." 


	21. 6:28 pm Azkaban

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Depression

November 1, 1981 

6:28 pm 

Azkaban 

Sirius awoke with a throbbing headache and a cold shiver, rapidly spreading across his body. Standing around him were three men, holding wands at him. They were in a small rowboat, and, towards the back, there was a half giant rowing. 

“Where am I?” He asked. 

“Yer goin’ ter Azkaban, you are.” One of the wizards, with a big bushy beard, said gruffly. All of the wizards in the boat were wearing thick coats. Sirius was still wearing the denim jacket he had put on that morning. 

Sirius shook his head and lay back down. As he breathed in the cascading fog surrounding their boat, he felt more and more hopeless. No one escaped from Azkaban. He would die here, in this fog and hopelessness. He would never get to see James or Lily or Remus ever again. To his disgust, he even missed Pettigrew, at least the Pettigrew that he had known in school, who was always good natured and up for a joke. But as the boat slowed, those memories faded. Had he ever really been happy? Did he really have fun in school? He forgot about the jokes, and instead remembered the nights he was alone and it was quiet and he was aware of how miserable he really was. He remembered having to listen to his mother spew hatred, not the days that he had fought her and rebelled, but the days he just gave in and listened to her because it was easier. And the nights he started believing it, although he would never admit it. For awhile, when he was thirteen, he truly hated himself, believing that he was a worthless blood traitor, like his mother said. Lying there, in the boat, he was there again, feeling that self hatred. 

“Get up.” One of the guards said. Sirius stood up. He saw Azkaban, in all its glory, and, in his soul, he was aware that he would die there, in that prison. He would never be happy again. 

A dark, shadowy figure floated by, and Sirius almost collapsed. He was filled with despair so strong that he almost didn’t have the strength to keep standing, although when it passed, he caught himself. 

He followed the three wizards up a set of stairs, beset by ice cold waves from the sea, and tried not to shiver as he did. It was frightfully cold, and it chilled him through his clothes, even through his skin, until the cold was all he could concentrate on. The wind bit at his ears and his nose and his fingers. It was almost too much to stand. 

The wizards led him to a cell, barely big enough for him to sit on the floor in. Sirius understood that this was his home now, and, as another shadowy figure approached, could see a shadow of his own dead body there, having lived the rest of his life in this cell. He sat down without any protest in the cell, and curled against the wall as one of the wizards slammed the door shut. 

“He deserved it, the son of a bitch.” The man said as they walked away. “This place gives me the chills though.” 

As the sounds of their footsteps faded, Sirius closed his eyes. He did deserve being here. As he pushed against the wall, he heard someone take a shaky, rattling breath. He wished that this day had never happened, that he had never woken up this morning. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was James and Lily’s crumbled bodies, their destroyed house. He felt that despair of hearing Dumbledore dismiss him and walk away, and that despair settled in his throat. 

He didn’t cry. He didn’t have the strength to cry. Crying took so much effort, and all he had the strength to do was lie here, immobile. Any positive thought he had disappeared as soon as it arrived, until all that remained was self hatred and doubt and despair. And, beneath it all, what he was most scared to feel, was that emptiness. As the seconds crept by, he realized, sinking further into despair, that was an emptiness that he had felt, underneath everything else, for his entire life. 

When he played pranks in school, or rebelled against his mother, he did it because he wasn’t strong enough to face that emptiness inside him, and making people laugh was easier than that. Anything was easier than that. He had joined James and Lily in fighting Voldemort because, once they had told him what Voldemort was doing, not fighting him would make him no better than his mother, and knowing that would surrender part of him to the darkness. 

Lying there, Sirius realized that nothing he had ever done was actually good or brave. The only reason he had done anything was because he was terrified of that emptiness. As another Dementor passed by, he felt himself sink closer to that emptiness, and all of his emotions started to fade. There was nothing inside him, no feelings left. 

Clinging on to the freezing rock, Sirius gave up, and surrendered to the emptiness that he feared so much. He knew that he was going to die without ever being free of the emptiness, and maybe that was what he deserved. 


	22. 8:37 pm Privet Drive

November 1, 1981 

8:37 pm 

Number 4 Privet Drive 

After a dinner of chicken and peas that Petunia had proudly worked on for nearly an hour, Vernon carried his dish to the sink and settled down to watch the nightly news, hoping that they had moved on from the idiots in robes. 

Petunia put Dudley into bed and then came back downstairs. It was early, but Vernon had already fallen asleep in his armchair. Petunia shook him awake, and he sputtered for a moment, but meandered towards the bedroom. Petunia walked over to the window and flicked the curtain open, hoping to catch a view of Ms. Armstrong in her garden. She was disappointed to see that there was nothing going on, except for that strange cat, sitting in front of Number 5’s drive. 

Once again, Petunia wondered if it was one of that new Figg woman’s cats, but if it was, it was behaving very strangely for a cat. She pursed her lips. She wasn’t happy about that cat, and thought Figg should keep better control of her cats. She resolved to ask Ms. Armstrong about it tomorrow and followed Vernon to the bedroom. 

Vernon was already asleep in bed as Petunia brushed her teeth and carefully washed her face. She inspected her reflection in the mirror carefully. She couldn’t see anything noticeably remiss with her appearance, no matter what Carol from Hanover Court had told Ms. Thompson. She gave up and went to bed, lying next to Vernon. 

For a while, Petunia struggled to get to sleep, listening to Vernon snort and snore in his sleep. If she had been a little more observant, she would have noticed the lights outside, on Privet Drive, slowly, one by one, clicking out. 


End file.
